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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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STRAY PEBBLES 



FROM THE 



SHORES OF THOUGHT 



BY 



/ 

ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD 



•AR ::92 
I 






BOSTON 
Press of T. O. Metcalf & Co. 




7S 3ri3 



COPYRIGHT 1892 
BY 

ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD 



CONTENTS. 



Poems of Nature 





PAGE 


To Walt Whitman . 


ii 


To Summer Hours . 


. 12 


A True Vacation 


■ 13 


A Question 


. 14 


To a Butterfly . 


. r6 


In a Hammock . 


. 18 


O rare, sweet summer day 


'O 


An Old Man's Reverie 


22 


On Jefferson Hill 




On Sugar Hill . 




At " Fairfield's," Wenham 


. . 


Blossom-time 


• 31 


The Primrose . 


• 33 


Joy, all Joy . . . 


• 35 


Among the Pines 


• 37 


Conscious or Unconscious 


• 39 



iv CONTENTS. 








Poems of Love : 


PAGE 


Love's How and Why . . . .43 


Love's Guerdon 








• 44 


A Birthday Greeting . 








• 45 


Three Kisses 








48 


If I were only sure . 








50 


Absence 








52 


A Love Song . 








53 


In Her Garden . 








55 


Love's Wish 








56 


Is there anything purer 








58 


Longing 








60 


Young Love's Message 








61 


A Diary's Secret 








63 


A Monologue . 








65 


A Priceless Gift 








66 


The Ocean's Moan . 








67 


Love's Flower . 








70 


Renunciation 








71 


Love Discrowned 








74 


A Widow's Heart Cry 








76 


Together . 








78 


Shadowed Circles . 








80 



CONTENTS. 


Y 


3ELLANEOUS POEMS : 






PAGE 


A Song of Success .... 


85 


The Under World .... 


87 


She Knows 


88 


At Pittsford, Vermont 


90 


Childhood's Days .... 


92 


An Answer 


94 


Where, What, Whence . 


96 


Heroes 


98 


A Magdalen's Easter Cry . 


100 


For the Anniversary of Mrs. Browning's 




Death 


103 


Robert Browning .... 


loS 


To Neptune, in behalf of S. C. G. . 


107 


To the Pansies growing on the grave oi 




A. S. D 


109 


A Broken Heart .... 


. Ill 


My Release 


"3 


The god of music .... 


"5 


To Wilhelm Gericke 


118 


For E. T. F. 




I, — After the birth of her son . 


119 


2. — Upon the death of her son . 


. 121 



vi CONTENTS. 




M 1 SCELLANEOUS PoEMS : — CoiitUiued. 


PAGE 


To C. H. F 


• 123 


An Anniversary Poem 


. 126 


A Comfort .... 


. 128 


An Anniversary 


• 129 


To Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody 


' 131 


At Life's Setting 


• ^33 


Grandma Waiting 


• 136 


Does it Pay .... 


• 144 


Auxilium ab Alto 


• 145 


Limitations .... 


• 147 


The Muse of History 


. 148 


An Impromptu to G. H. T. 


• 151 


To Mrs. Partington . 


• '53 


Lines for the Seventieth Birthday 


Anni- 


versary of Walt Whitman . 


. 156 


Sonnets : 




The Known God 


. 161 


To Phillips Brooks . 


• 16s 


At the " Porter Manse " . 


. 165 


Our Lady of the Manse 


. . 167 


To B. P. Shillaber . 


. 169 


To Our Mary .... 


• 171 



CONTENTS. 

Sonnets : — Continued. 

A Birthday Remen)brance 

Josef Hofmann 

After the Denial 

Gethsemane 

On Lake Memphremagog 

Luke 23 : 24 

To Members of my Home Club 

For my little Nephews and Nieces 



175 
177 
179 
181 

183 
185 



Mamma's Lullaby . . . . .189 

Warren's Song 190 

Baby Mildred . . . . . .192 

Rosamond and Mildred . . . .194 

'Chilla 196 

Childish Fancies 197 

What little Bertram did . . . -199 
" Dear little Mac "'..... 202 
Willard and Florence on Mt. Wachusett . 207 
A little Brazilian . . . . .210 

The little doubter 213 

Our Kitty's Trick 217 

A Message 220 



POEMS OF NATURE. 



TO WALT WHITMAN. 

" I loafe and invite my soul." 
And what do I feel .? 
An influx of life from the great central 

power 
That generates beauty from seedling to 
flower. 

"I loafe and invite my soul." 
And what do I hear ? 
Original harmonies piercing the din 
Of measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin. 

"I loafe and invite my soul." 
And what do I see ? 
The temple of God in the perfected man 
Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's 
plan. 

August, i8gi. 



TO SUMMER HOURS. 

DAY. 

Trip lightly, joyous hours, 
While Day her heart reveals. 
Such wealth from secret bowers 
King Time himself ne'er steals. 
O joy, King Time ne'er steals ! 

NIGHT. 

Breathe gently, tireless hours, 
While Night in beauty sleeps. 
Hold back e'en softest showers,- 
Enough that mortal weeps. • 
Ah me, that my heart weeps ! 



A TRUE VACATION. 

IN A HAMMOCK. 

" Cradled thus and wind caressed," 

Under the trees, 

(Oh what ease.) 
Nature full of joyous greeting ; 
Dancing, singing, naught secreting, 
Ever glorious thoughts repeating — 

Pause, O Time, 

I'm satisfied ! 

Now all life 

Is glorified ! 

Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass. 



A QUESTION. 

Is life a farce ? 

Tell me, O breeze. 
Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees, 

While gaily decked birds 
Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond 

words, 
And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer 

air 
Rejoicing in everything being so fair — 

Is life a farce ? 

How can it be, child, 

When Nature at heart 
Is but the great spirit of love and of art 
Eternally saying, " I must God impart." 

14 



A QUESTION. IS 

Is life a farce ? 

Tell me, O soul, 
Struggling to act out humanity's whole 

'Midst Error and Wrong, 
And failure in sight of true victory's song ; 
With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to 

view, 
And love for the many lost in love for the 
few — 

Is life a farce ? 

How can it be, child, 
When humanity's heart 
Is but the great spirit of love and of art 
Eternally crying, "I must God impart." 



TO A BUTTERFLY. 

O butterfly, now prancing 
Through the air, 
So glad to share 

The freedom of new living. 

Come, tell me my heart's seeking. 
Shall I too know 
After earth's throe 

Full freedom of my being ? 
Shall I, as you, 
Through law as true. 

Know life of fuller meaning ? 

O happy creature, dancing, 
Is time too short 
With pleasure fraught 

For you to heed my seeking ? 
i6 



TO A BUTTERFLY, 17 

Ah, well, you've left me thinking : 

If here on earth 

A second birth 
Can so transform a being, 

Why may not I 

In worlds on high 
Be changed beyond earth's dreaming ? 



IN A HAMMOCK. 

The rustling leaves above me, 
The breezes sighing round me, 
A network glimpse of bluest sky 
To meet the upturned seeing eye, 
The greenest lawn beneath me. 
Loved flowers and birds to greet me, 
A well-kept house of ancient days 
To tell of human nature's ways, — 
Oh happy, happy hour ! 

Whence comes all this to bless me. 
The soft wind to caress me. 
The life which does my strength renew 
For purer visions of the true ? 
Alas ! no one can tell me. 



IN A HAMMOCK. i 

But, hush ! let Nature lead me. 
Let even wisest questions cease 
While I breathe in such life and peace 
This happy, happy hour. 

Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass. 



O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY. 

" The day is placid in its going, 
To a lingering motion bound, 
Like a river in its flowing — 
Can there be a softer sound? " 

— Wordsworth. 

O rare, sweet summer day, 

Could'st thou not longer stay ? 
The soothing, whispering wind's caress 

Was bliss to weary brain, 
The songs of birds had power to bless 

As in fair childhood's reign. 

The tinted clouds were free from showers, 

The sky was wondrous clear. 
The precious incense of rare flowers 

Made sweet the atmosphere ; 



O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY. 21 

The shimmering haze of mid- day hour 

Was balm to restlessness, 
While thought of silent hidden power 

Was strength for helplessness — 

O rare, sweet summer day, 

Could'st thou not longer stay ? 

Porter Manse. 



AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 

Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's 

swiftest wing. 
And bear her the message my heart dares 



Pause not on the highways where gathers 

earth's dust, 
Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets 

say must. 
But blow through the valleys where flowers 

await 
To give of their essence ere yielding to 

fate ; 
Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres 

lie 
Imbued with the health which no money 

can buy. 



AJV OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 23 

But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest 

wing 
To bear her the message my heart dares to 

sing. 

The breezes, thus ladened, sped on in their 

flight. 
As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight, 
On that blest summer day in the years long 

ago, 
When life was all sunshine and youth all 

aglow. 
The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the 

hills 
Were gathered — the best that our loved 

earth distills — 
As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew 
To the home of my darling they now so 

well knew. 



24 AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 

Aias for the breezes, alas for my heart, 
Alas for my message, so full of love's art ! 
If only the breezes had followed their will, 
And loitered among the pure cloudlets so 

still, 
They'd have met a fair soul from the earth 

just set free 
In search of their help for its message to 

me ; 
The message my darling, with last fleeting 

breath, 
In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death. 

The breezes, fresh breezes, have blown on 

since then. 
With messages laden again and again. 
As for me, I send none. I wail only their 

will 
To bring me that message my lone heart 

to fill. 



AA^ OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 25 

They'll find it some day in a light zephyr 

chase, 
For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless 

space. 



ON JEFFERSON HILL. 

(before the presidential range.) 

The sovereign mountains bask in sunset 
rays, 
The valleys rest in peace ; 
The lingering clouds melt into twilight haze, 

The birds their warbling cease ; 
The villagers' hour of welcome sleep is 
near, 
The cattle wander home, 
While wrapped in summer-scented atmos- 
phere. 
Calm evening comes to roam 
With gentle pace 
Through star-lit space, 
26 



ON JEFFERSON HILL. 27 

Till moon-kissed Night holds all in her 
embrace, 

And Morning waits to show her dawn- 
flushed face. 



ON SUGAR HILL. 

TO F. B. F. 

The lovely valleys nestling in the arms 

Of glorious mountain peaks ; 
The purple tint of sunset hour, and charms 

The evening hour bespeaks ; 
The monarch peak kissed by the rising sun, 

While clouds keep guard below ; 
Grand, restful views, with foliage autumn- 
won, 
And Northern lights rare glow, — 
Will e'er recall, 
In memory's hall, 
The happy days when on fair " Look-Off 's " 

height. 
Sweet friendship cast her hues of golden 
light. 

Hotel Look-Off, September, iSgr. 
28 



AT FAIRFIELDS*, WENHAM. 

June, i8go. 

Buttercups and daisies, 

Clover red and white, 
Ferns and crown-topped grasses 

Waving with delight, 
Dainty locust-blossoms. 

All that glad June yields. 
Welcome me with gladness 

To dearly-loved " Fairfields." 
But Where's my happy collie dog, 
My Rosa ? 

The orioles sing greeting, 
The butterflies come near, 



Fairfields " is but another name for " Porter Manse. 
29 



30 AT FAIRF/ELDS, WEN HAM. 

The hens cease not their cackling, 

The horses neigh " I'm here," 
The cows nod " I have missed you," 

The pigs' eyes even shine, 
And from the red-house hearth-stone 
Comes pet cat Valentine. 
But where's my happy collie dog, 
My Rosa ? 

I miss her joyful greeting, 

Her handsome, high-bred face. 

Her vigorous, playful action 
In many a fair field chase. 

Not even lively Sancho 
Can fill for me her place. 

O Rosa, happy Rosa, 

Gone where the good dogs go. 
Dost find such fields as "Fairfields," 

More love than we could show ? 



BLOSSOM-TIME. 

Blossoms floating through the air, 
Bearing perfumes rich and rare, 
Free from trouble, toil, and care. 
Would I were a blossom ! 

Robins singing in the trees. 
Feeling every velvet breeze, 
Free from knowledge that bereaves. 
Would I were a robin ! 

Violets peaceful in the vale. 
Telling each its happy tale, 
Free from worldly noise and sale. 
Would I were a violet ! 

Blessed day of needed wealth, 
Full of Nature's perfect health, 
Fill me with thy power. 
31 



32 BL OSSOM- TIME. 

Then like blossoms I shall be, 

Wafting only purity, 
Or like robins, singing free 
'Midst the deepening mystery, 
Or like violets, caring naught 
Only to reflect God's thought." 

Porter Manse. 



THE PRIMROSE. 

Who tells you, sweet primrose, 'tis time to 
wake up 
After dreaming all day ? 
Who changes so quickly your sombre green 
dress 
To the yellow one gay, 
And makes you the pet of the twilight's 
caress, 
And of poet's sweet lay ? 
Who does, primrose, pray ? 

The primrose, secure on his emerald throne, 
Looked up quickly to say, 

" A dear lovely fairy glides down from his 
throne 
In the sun's golden ray, 

33 



34 THE PRIMROSE. 

And with a sweet kiss opens wide all our 
eyes, 
Saying, ' Now is your day.' 
And lo ! when he's gone we are filled with 
surprise 
At our wondrous array, 
So fresh and so gay. 
Do tell us the name of this fairy, I pray, 
Who gives of his beauty, and then hies 
away 
Without thanks, without pay. 
Does he linger your way ? " 



JOY, ALL JOY. 

Lying on the new-mown hay, in a sightly 
field, 
On a summer day, 
With no care to weigh, 
Or a bitter thought to stay all that sense 
might yield — 
What a joy to have alway ! 

Sky as blue as blue can be, perfect green 
all round, 
Birdlings on the wing 
Ere they pause to sing 
On the top of bush or tree, or on sweet 
hay-mound — 
Restful joy in everything ! 

35 



36 JOY, ALL JOY. 

Butterflies just come to light, proud of free- 
dom's hour, 
Cows in pastures near, 
Wondering why I'm here. 
Chipmunks now and then in sight, bees in 
clover-flower — 
Added joy when these appear ! 

Happy children far and near climbing loads 
of hay. 
Running here and there. 
Farmer's work to share, 
Skipping, shouting loud and clear, full of 
daring play — 
Children's joy ! Joy everywhere ! 



AMONG THE PINES. 

Far up in air the pines are murmuring 
Love songs sweet and low, 
With a rhythmic flow, 

Worthy of the glad sun's glow. 

The airy clouds are o'er them bending. 
Captured by the sound 
Of such pleasure found 
In a playful daily round. 

The birds pause in their flight to listen, 
Wondering all the while 
How the trees can smile 
Rooted so to earthly guile. 
37 



38 AMONG THE PINES. 

The hush of summer noon enwraps them 
Perfumed from below 
By the flowers that show 
They, too, murmuring love songs know. 

All nature finds a joy in loving — 
Oh, that I could hear 
Love songs once so dear 
Death has hushed forever here ! 

Intervale Woods, North Conway. 



CONSCIOUS OR UNCONSCIOUS? 

The earthquake's shock, the thunder's roar, 

The lightning's vivid chain, 
The ocean's strength, the deluge's pour, 

The wildest hurricane, 

Are moods that Nature loves to show 

To man who boasts his birth 
From conscious force she could not know 

Because denied soul-worth. 

But is it true she does not share 

A knowledge in God's plan ? 
Must not she His own secret bear 

To so touch soul of man ? 

39 



40 CONSCIOUS OR UNCONSCIOUS. 

Those who deny this see not clear 

Into the heart of things ; 
For how could otherwise God here 

Reveal His wanderings ? 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



LOVE'S HOW AND WHY. 

How do I love thee ? 

Oh, who knows 
How the blush of the rose 
Can its secret disclose ? 

Oh, .who knows ? 

Why do I love thee ? 

Ah, who cares 
Sound a passion he shares 
With the angels^.? Who dares, 

Yes, who dares ? 



43 



LOVE'S GUERDON. 

Thine eyes are stars to hold me 
To love's pure rapturous height. 

Thy thoughts are pearls to lead me 
To truth beyond earth's sight. 

Thy love is life to keep me 
Forever in God's light. 



44 



A BIRTHDAY GREETING. 

Thy birthday, dear ? 
Oh, would I had the poet's art 
By which I could my wish impart 

For thy new year ; 
But e'en a poet's pen of gold 
Would fail my wish to thee unfold 

In earthly sphere. 

Thy birthday, dear ? 
Oh, would I had the painter's skill 
Prophetic visions to fulfill 

For thy new year ; 
But e'en a painter's rarest brush 
Would but my holy visions crush. 

Or fail to cheer. 

45 



46 A BIRTHDAY GREETING. 

Thy birthday, dear ? 
Oh, would I had sweet music's aid 
To vitaUze the prayers I've made 

For thy new year ; 
Alas ! not even music's best 
Could put in form my soul's behest 

For thee, my dear. 

That only will expression find 

In purest depths of thine own mind 

This coming year ; 
As, guided by the inner light, 
There'll come to thee the new-born sight 

Of ravished seer. 

But in this sight thou may'st so feel 
Eternal beauty o'er thee steal — 

God's gift, my dear — 
That thou can'st find the blessed art 



A BIRTHDAY GREETING. 47 

By which to make e'en depths of heart 
In form appear. 

Yet, it may be a heaven's birthday 
Will have to dawn for us to say 

Our best things, dear. 
For, as thou know'st, Truth's deepest well 
Must e'er reflect, its depths to tell 

Heaven's atmosphere. 



THREE KISSES. 



The kiss still burns upon my brow, 

That kiss of long ago, 
When in the flush of love's first hour 

He said he loved me so. 



Another burns yet deeper still, 
The kiss of wedded bliss, 

When soul met soul in rapture sweet — 
Oh, pure love's burning kiss ! 

The third was laid away with him, 
A kiss for heaven's day, 
(O heart abide God's way) — 

When in the life beyond earth's change, 
48 



THREE KISSES. 49 

Beyond these mysteries sad and strange, 
New life will spring from out the old, 
New thoughts will larger truth unfold. 
And love have endless sway. 



IF I WERE ONLY SURE. 

If I were only sure 

He loves me still, 
As in the realms of beauteous space 
(Alas ! so far from my embrace) 

He bides God's will, 
I could be more content to bear 
The bitter anguish and despair 

Which now me fill. 

If I were only sure 

He waits for me 
To join him in the heavenly realm 
(Oh, how the thought does overwhelm) 

When body-free, 
50 



IF I WERE ONLY SURE. 

I could the better bear my fate, 
As day by day I learn to wait 
In silent agony. 

O Father, in my doubt 

One thing is sure. 
That Thou, all love, could ne'er destroy 
(Death only is in earth's alloy) 

Such love so pure 
As that which blessed our union here. 
The love which knew no change nor fear 

Such must endure. 



ABSENCE. 

The days are happy here, dear, 
But happier would they be 

Could'st thou be near to bless me 
With love's sweet ministry ; 

Then all this beauty round me 
Would on my memory lie, 

As prayers of sainted mother, 
Or childhood's lullaby. 

Hotel Look-Off, Sugar Hill, N.H. 



52 



A LOVE SONG. 

Oh ! ecstasy rare 

Comes down to share 
The heart that with human love trembles 

While all on the earth 

Is crowned with new birth 
And everything heaven resembles. 

But grief and despair 

Have latent their share 
In hearts that with human love tremble, 

Since fires of love 

Enkindled above 
In frail earthen vessels assemble. 

Still, ecstasy rare 
Comes down to share 

53 



54 A LOVE SONG. 

The heart that with human love trembles : 
While all on the earth 
Is crowned with new birth 

And everything heaven resembles. 



IN HER GARDEN. 

She picks me June roses. 
Were ever such roses ? 
Their fragrance would honor 
The heavenly halls. 

She finds me pet pansies. 
Such wondrous-eyed pansies, 
And lovely nasturtiums 
That run on the walls. 

Sweet peas she's now bringing, 
While all the time singing. 
And I ? Ask the flowers 
To tell what befalls. 



55 



LOVE'S WISH. 

Would I were beautiful ! 
Then you at Beauty's shrine might freely 
dine, 
A welcome guest 
For joy's bequest. 
But, dear, if this were so, — 
If I were Beauty's child, all undefiled, 
To make you blest 
In beauty's quest. 

You might forget to see 
The soul's pure hidden shrine wherein e'er 
shine 
The things that test 
Love's true behest. 
56 



LOVE'S WISH. 57 

Would I were beautiful, 
That you might better see the soul in me ! 
That wish is best, 
Is't not, dearest ? 



IS THERE ANYTHING PURER? 

Oh, the prayer of a dear virgin-heart, 
Breathed forth with true love's gentle art ! 
Is there anything purer 

On land or on sea. 
More laden with blessing 
For you or for me ? 

It is sweeter than song ever heard, 
More precious than love's spoken word. 
It is fraught with a keen recognition 
Of truest soul-need and fruition. 
Is there anything purer 

On land or on sea, 
More laden with comfort 
For you or for me ? 
5S 



IS THERE ANYTHING PURER? 59 

It is oftentimes born in great pain, 
With no ray of hope's blessed gain. 
But as lulled by the angels at midnight 
Ere reaching the infinite daylight 
Is there anything surer, 

On land or on sea, 
To bring the God-Father 
To you or to me ? 



LONGING. 

Through all this summer joy and rest, 
Though lying on fair Nature's breast, 
There breathes the longing heart's desire, 
Would he were here ! 

The thrill of pain kind Nature feels ; 
For all the while there o'er me steals 
Like holy chimes in midnight air, 
" He'll soon be here." 

And flowers and trees, vales, hills, and birds 
Make haste to echo her glad words, 
" He'll soon be here." 



60 



YOUNG LOVE'S MESSAGE. 

Sing too, little bird, what my heart sings 
to-day. 

Dost thou know ? — 

I'll speak low — 
" Oh, I do love him so." 

Hold safe, waving grass, in thy rhythmical 
flow, 

What I say, 
Till the day 
When as sweet new-mown hay 

Thou can'st bear it to him in the fragrance 
loved best. 

6i 



62 YOUNG LOVE'S MESSAGE. 

Thou dost fear? — 
Oh, love dear, 
How I wish thou wert here ! 

But pause, little cloud, thou canst carry it 
now, 

I am sure, 
Sweet and pure. 
Though the winds do allure ; 

For thou art on the way to the west where 
he is. 

But dost know ? — 
Tell him low, 
" That I do love him so. 
Oh ! I do love him so." 



A DIARY'S SECRET. 

Jamiary /, iSby. 

God's love was once enough 

My heart to satisfy, 
When in the days of childhood's faith 

I knew not doubt or sigh. 

But since 1 saw Roy's face, 

And knew his love's sweet cheer, 

And felt the anguish and despair 
Which come from partings here, 

So hungry have I grown 

No love can satisfy, 
And all my childhood's faith in God 

Doth mock me as a lie. 

63 



64 A DIARY'S SECRET. 

But Still in these dark hours 
I hold one anchor fast : 

Perhaps this is the tvomaii's way 
To reach God's love at last. 

January /, iSSj. 

The deepening years have proved 
Love's conquest justified. 

The woman's hungry heart at last 
In God is satisfied. 



A MONOLOGUE. 

Has Love come ? 

Ah, too late ! 
Already Death stands o'er me 
With hungry eyes that bore me — 

O cruel fate, 
That after all life's years 
Of sacrifice and tears, 
'Tis Death, not Love, that wins. 
But, stay ! This message bear,, 
Ere yet Death's work begins : 
" In other realms earth's losses 
Will change from saddening crosses 

To love-crowned joy, 
Where Death shall have no mission. 
But Love his sweet fruition 

Without alloy." 

65 



A PRICELESS GIFT. 

'T was much he asked — a virgin heart 

Unknown to worldly ways. 
What could he give ? Ah, well he knew 

He lacked sweet virtue's praise. 

The virgin heart was given to him 
Without a doubting thought, 

When, lo ! through seeming sacrifice 
A miracle was wrought ; 

A miracle of love and grace, 

Revealing woman's power ; 
For, clothed in purity, he rose 

To meet the cominjr hour. 



66 



THE OCEAN'S MOAN. 

Last night the ocean's moan 

Was to my ears 
The deep sad undertone 

Of vanished years, 

Bearing a burden, 

A bliss unattained, 

A strife and a longing, 

A life sad and pained. 

To the shores vast and free 

Of eternity's sea. 

But in that undertone 

Of restless pain. 
Came at length a monotone 

Of sweet refrain, 
67 



68 THE OCEAN'S MOAN. 

Bearing a passion 
Long known to the sea — 
Told in moments of silence 
A sad heart to free — 
To be borne me some day 
In the ocean's own way. 

And this rare monotone 

Of mystery 
Was now that passion-moan 

Of secrecy, 

Bearing, " I love her, 
My moaning ne'er'll cease 
Till she on my breast 
Findeth love's perfect peace ; 
Till she on my breast 
Findeth love's perfect rest." 

Oh, is there tenderer tone 
For mortal ear, 



THE OCEAN'S A/0 AM 69 

Than such a monotone, 
Distinct and clear, 

Bearing its comfort, 

Its heavenly peace. 

Its help for all sorrow, 

Its heart-pain release. 

To a soul waiting long 

For love's tender, true song ? 

And now the ocean's moan 

Is to my ears 
The dearest undertone 

Of all the years. 

Bearing a memory, 

A sweet bliss attained, 

A gratified longing, 

A life's joys regained, 

To the shores vast and free 

Of eternity's sea. 

Boar's Head, Hainpton, iV.H. 



LOVE'S FLOWER. 

Love's sweet and tender flower 

Of pure, perennial life, 
Blooms ever fresh in power 

O'er all earth's wrong and strife. 

Pluck not in haste, young man. 
This flower of wondrous hue. 

Nor dare to crush, nor fail to scan^ 
Such beauty ever new. 

Gaze at it long, young girl. 
And guard its sacred blush ; 

Then shall its treasures old unfurl 
Your yearning soul to hush. 



70 



LOVE DISCROWNED. 

(/// Four Scejies.) 
SCENE I. 

" When he comes, my darhng, 
I shall tell him all : 

All the secret ecstasy, 
All the peace and joy, 

All my heart's sweet fantasy. 
Free from self's alloy, — 

All — 

O blessed power 
Of love's sweet hour. 
When I shall tell him all. 
Shall tell him all ! " 



72 LOVE DISCROWNED. 

SCENE II. 

*' Hark, hark ! he's come. I hear his step. 

joy, love's hour is here. 

I knew that he was true and pure, 

1 could not feel love's fear. 
Oh, no ; I could not, dear." 

SCENE III. 

She gave one look, one piercing look, 
Drew back her anguished soul, 

Then murmured low, " O bitter hour ! 
But — God — forgive — the — whole — 

Forgive — 

O bitter power 
Of love's death-hour, 
I thought to tell him all, 
To tell him all." 



LOVE DISCROWNED. 73 

SCENE IV. 

He gazed upon her lifeless face, 

He held her lifeless hand. 
Was this the form he once had loved ? 

He did not understand. 
Once loved ? Yes, that was so. 

He'd loved since, one or two, 
And — well, what was a woman for, 

If not for man to woo 1 

MORAL. 

Alas, for broken hearts and lives 
Of those who can but trust ! 

Alas, for those who see no law 
But that of selfish must ! 



RENUNCIATION. 

" Oh, is not love eternal 

When once the heart be won ? 

Oh, is not love infernal 

When love can be undone ? " 

So sighed a gentle maiden 
In light of memory dear, 

xA.s, sad and heavy-laden, 

She longed for knowledge clear. 

But soon the bitter heart-ache 
Gave way to victory's cheer ; 

For, brave, she chose for His sake 
The life which knows no peer ; 

74 



RENUNCIATION. 75 

The life of abnegation 

Which gives the Christ's own peace, 
But leaves the sad temptation 

To ask for life's release. 



A WIDOW'S HEART- CRY. 

"Thy will, not mine, be done ! " 
So breathe I when the day's begun, 
So breathe I when the day is done. 

I whisper it in blinding tears, 

I pause and listen, till appears 

The welcome voice for listening ears ; 

The voice which checks my wayward will 
And makes my longing heart to thrill 
With love for those who need me still. 

But, O, how long must I so pray ? 
When will I learn to calmly say, 
^'Thy will is mine," both night and day.'* 
76 



A WIDOW'S HEART-CRY. 77 

Ah ! this can never be on earth, 
Since he who gladly gave me birth 
To everything that was of worth 

Has gone from out my sense and sight, 
To what ? O ye who still invite 
To heaven's sure realm and faith's own 
right, 

Reveal some clue for me to see 
What life is his, what he's to me. 
Alas ! ye can't. Then what can be 

More precious when the day is done, 

Or when the morning is begun. 

Than, "Not my will, but Thine, be done."" 



TOGETHER. 

Transformed, redeemed from all that dwarfs 

or blights, 
In perect harmony with beauteous sights 
Beyond imagination's highest flights 

Ere reached by seer, 
We shall together walk the golden streets 
Sometime, my dear. 

But how, you ask, shall we each other know, 
So changed from what we were while here 

below, 
When, caged like birds, we longed and suf- 
fered so ? 

Ah, do not fear. 
78 



TOGETHER. 79 

Will not the soul, when free, seek like the 
bird 

Its own, my dear ? 

It may not be at once or soon, 'tis true. 
For you may be among the blessed few 
Who'll sooner reach the blissful heights — 
your due 

For pure life here — 
But sometime, sure as God is love and truth, 
We'll meet, my dear. 

Some precious, long-forgotten look or word 
Breathed through the softest, sweetest music 

heard. 
Or some vibration rare of soul depths stirred 

By memory's tear. 
Will, like a flash of light, reveal our souls 

Together, dear. 
To live the fuller life we've dreamed of here. 



SHADOWED CIRCLES. 

Why weepest thou, O dear one ? 

Do sorrows press ? 
Beneath the weight of sorrow 

Is love's caress. 



Why joyest thou, O dear one ? 

Is love thine own ? 
Ah ! 'neath love's deep rejoicing 

Is sorrow's moan. 

Indeed, all earth's great passions 

Is it not so ? — 
Are circled in the shadow 

Of joy or woe. 
80 



SNA D O WED CIR CL ES. 

But why should we bemoan this ? 

Could otherwise 
Truth's dazzling light be subject 

To mortal eyes ? 

Could otherwise we enter 
The endless light, 

Beyond the shadowed circle 
Of mortal sight ? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



A SONG OF SUCCESS. 

YOUTH. 

I am dancing along. Just to live is a joy, 

I'm so happy and free. 
I know not nor care what will tame or de- 
stroy, 
Life now satisfies me. 
Oh, there's naught like dear youth 
To reveal the glad truth 
That 'tis pure, healthful joy just to know 
and to be ! 

MIDDLE AGE. 

I am marching along, full of work and of 
plan 
To alleviate wrong. 

85 



86 A SOA'G OF SUCCESS. 

With a heart full of love both to God and 
to man, 
And an arm free and strong. 
Oh, there's naught like mid-life 
To make sure without strife 
The beauty of progress through action and 
song. 

OLD AGE. 

I am living along, sitting down by the way. 

My work is all done. 
I have fought the good fight, known the full 
of each day, 

And true victory won. 

Oh, there's naught like old age 

To declare with the sage, 
Life ending on earth is but heaven begun. 



THE UNDER-WORLD. 

Under the restless surface 
Of ocean's vast domain, 

The god of perfect quiet 
Holds ever peaceful reign. 

Under the restless surface 
Of passions strong and wild, 

The still small voice of conscience 
Is heard in accents mild. 

Under the restless surface 
Of all man's life on earth, 

The Christ of sacred story 
Renews each day his birth. 



87 



SHE KNOWS. 

(^Written at Mountain Cottage, on Mount Wachusett, wfure 
Louisa M. Alcott spent the last summer of her life.) 

Last summer she believed that in and 
through these beauteous scenes 
God's loving self did flow, 
But now she knows 'tis so. 

For, having crossed the boundary lines of 
honest doubt and fear, 
She sees with spirit-eye 
What sense could not descry. 

Her firm belief, thus blossomed into perfect 
flower of sight, 
Becomes a restful cheer 
To all who linger here, 



SHE KNOWS. 89 

Still asking for the secret of these changing, 
beauteous scenes, 
And troubled with the why 
Of all earth's sorrowing cry. 

Her presence here has filled the place with 
memory of a soul 
Made beautiful through pain 
Eternity to gain. 

August, 1888. 



AT PITTSFORD, VERMONT. 

TO J. A. C. 

As winds the lovely Otter Creek through 
vales of summer green, 
Ne'er pausing on its way, 
Though love its tribute pay. 

So gently winds my loving thought through 
memory's changing scenes, 
To days of long ago 
When thee I first did know. 

Thy heartfelt sympathy and help were to 
my fresh young soul 
What these dear Vermont hills 
Are to the little rills ; 
90 



AT PITTSFORD, VERMONT. 91 

A presence near, a faithful strength, life- 
giving and serene — 
Oh, hills, be now as much 
To her who feels Time's touch ! 

In different paths, through various ways, 
we've known the world since then. 
Together now we rest 
On Nature's peaceful breast. 



CHILDHOOD'S DAYS. 

TO M. C. 

If knowledge gained in later years 

May wholly cloud from sight 
The glimpse which childhood's eye hath 
caught 

Of heaven's celestial light, 

Then need we not the atmosphere 

Of second childhood's days 
To catch another broader glimpse 

Of heaven's immortal rays ? 

Ah, yes ; we even need to seek, 

Through earth's illusive hour-, 
Immortal childhood's heavenly days 

Of sweet, revealing power ; 
92 



CHILDHOOD'S DAYS. 95- 

For how can otherwise we catch 

The deeper glimpses yet 
Of life eternal, glorious, pure, 

Where sun hath never set ? 



AN ANSWER. 

TO B. P. S. 

" Why don't I write a story ? " 
Ah, friend, if you could see 

The depths of hidden heart-life 
Alas ! so known to me. 

You'd find the truest story 

Flashed out in gleams of light, 

Before which all pens falter 
And vanish out of sight. 

And as they vanish from me 
They leave the impress clear, 

That only Heaven's pen could write 
Such stories acted here. 
94 



AN ANSWER, 95 

So in His book of life, 

Revealed to all some day, 
You'll find my story grand and true. 

Worked out in His own way. 



WHERE ? WHAT ? WHENCE ? 

The kingdom of heaven is where ? 
Oh, where ? 
Would that the heart which with pity o'er- 
flows, 
While deigning love's burdens to share, 
Could disclose ! 

The kingdom of heaven is what ? 
Oh, what ? 
Would that the Infinite Presence which 
flows 
Through a life on the earth finely cut 
Might disclose ! 

The kingdom of heaven is whence ? 
Oh, whence ? 
96 



WHERE? WHAT? WHENCE? 97 

Ah ! let the wind and the breath of the rose 
Their secrets of hfe and of sense 
Dare disclose ! 
Could we then see the better whence spirit 
arose ? 
Who knows ? Oh, who knows ? 



HEROES. 

The heroes on the battlefield are calm in 
death, 

Their fighting o'er ; 
They feel no more the fevered breath 

Of battle's war ; 
They hear at last the voice that saith 
" Fight on no more." 

But oh, the heroes on the grander field of 
peace, 

Who know no rest ! 
Whose hearts ne'er feel the full release 

From mortal quest. 
Nor breathe the air where struggles cease 
The soul to test. 
98 



HEROES. 99 

For such we mourn, O purifying soul of 
life, 

For such we pray. 
Let Nature free them from the strife 

Of falsehood's way, 
And Love through every struggle rife 
Have free, full play. 



A MAGDALEN'S EASTER CRY. 

In the diiierent mansions of heavenly space 
Prepared for the faithful and pure, 
(Ah me, for the faithful and pure !) 

Can I dare hope to find e'en a small resting 
place 
Free from sin and all earthly allure ? 

Can a soul such as mine, that has wasted 
life's wealth 
On the baubles knd gewgaws of time, 
(Ah me, on the baubles of time !) 
Have a fitting strength left to regain needed 
health 
For the life of a heavenly clime ? 



A MAGDALEN'S i: ASTER CRY. loi 

For a life where the laws of the spirit, not 
sense, 
Bring their perfect eternal reward, 
(Ah me, their eternal reward !) 
And the pleasures obtained with such fever 
intense 
Can find nowhere a vibrating chord ? 

Oh, woe is me, woe is me, this Easter day ! 

No hope riseth up in my soul. 

(Ah me, my poor sin-laden soul !) 
I have only the dregs of my pleasure to pay. 

And such wrong, bitter thoughts of life's 
whole. 

But, listen ! What's that ? What's that mes- 
sage I hear 
Bearing down on my sad troubled heart 'i 
(Ah me, on my sad troubled heart !) 



I02 A MAGDALEN'S EASTER CRY. 

" Christ is risen indeed. He is risen to 
cheer, 
And His strength to the weakest impart." 

O Christ, can it be that Thine own risen 
strength 
Can give life, added Hfe, to my soul, 
To my sin-laden, weak, starving soul ? 
Yes, 'tis true. I'll believe, and rejoice now 
at length 
To feel Easter's sweet joy o'er me roll. 



FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MRS. 
BROWNING'S DEATH. 

Jzine 2g, 1861. 

" 'Tis beautiful," she faintly cried, 
Then closed her weary eyes and died. 

So stands plain fact on history's page, 
Attested to by friend and sage. 

But in our hearts the fact grows bright, 
Illumined with immortal light. 

For open eyes saw heaven's shores, 
And life, not death, revealed its stores. 

" 'Tis beautiful ! " It must be so. 
If such a soul 'midst parting's woe, 
103 



104 J-Vh' 77//-: ./.A-.W/V'.A'AV/AM", KyV. 

Could with liiilirs perfect clearness see 
'i'he secret of life's mystery; 

Could /.-/loii' that fullest life of man 
Needs heaven's lii;ht to round Cod's plan. 

O woman-soul without a peer, 

^^'e thank thee more and more each year 

For this sweet \^\-ooi of l>eauty's power 
r.eyond earth's transitory hour. 

It calms our hours of doubt and pain, 
And beautifies earth's troubled reign, 

To feel that thou art sending still 
This same sweet message of God's will, 

r.orn of fruition's grander sight, 
()f perfect beauty, peace, and light. 



ROBKRT JiROVVNINC;. 

"A peace out of pain, 
Then a liRlit, then thy breast. 
•O tlioii soul of my soul, I sliall clasp thee again, 
And with Clod be the rest ! " 

— Prospice, 

I'HlJillni Piunnhn- /3, /88g. 

Oh, the Ijlcsscd fruition 
Of peace out of pain ! 

Of a light without darkness, 
A clasping again ! 

Of a full soul reunion 
In Love's endless reign ! 

Sing, O earth, with new joy 
At this victory won ! 

For the faitli that endured 
Till the setting of sur) ! 
105 



io6 ROBERT BROWNING. 

For the hope that shone clear 
Through the mighty work done ! 

For the love that sought God 
To guide love here begun ! 

Sing, O earth, with new joy 
For such victory won ! 



TO NEPTUNE, IN BEHALF OF 
S. C. G. 

O Neptune, in thy vast survey 

Of all the ships that sail, 
Watch lovingly the well-known way 

Of one we wait to hail. 

The Cephalonia is her name — 

But why need I tell more ? 
Thou knowest indeed the well earned fame 

She bears from shore to shore. 

But since among her company's band 

Is one who 's life to me, 
O Neptune, bear her in thy hand 

E'en yet more tenderly, 
107 



io8 TO NEPTUNE, ETC. 

O'er gentle waves, 'neath fair blue sky, 
'Midst winds that only blow 

To make the time more swiftly fly 
For hearts that hunger so. 

Boston, Septembe7' 4, 1886. 



TO THE TANSIES GROWING ON 
THE GRAVE OF A. S. D. 

Beautiful pansies, ye must know 

Your sacred mission here, 
For how could otherwise ye grow 

So sweet and full of cheer ? 

Your watchful love we can't o'errate, 

As, lingering here in tears, 
Fond memory brings the precious weight 

Of friendship's golden years. 

Ye are the symbols, pure and sweet, 

Of heartsease and of life. 
Through which our thought may dare retreat 

From pain and death so rife, 
1 09 



no TO THE TANSIES, ETC. 

To realms of light and peace above, 
From earth's alloy set free, 

Wherein abide immortal love 
And deathless ministry. 

But still, while we your comfort seek, 
Our hearts will wildly yearn 

To hear once more the loved one speak, 
Once more the form discern. 

At Woodlawn Cemetery, May, 1886. 



A BROKEN HEART. 



Must I always look for sorrow 
On the morrow ? 
Must I never have the hope 
That a life of larger scope 
Will before my vision ope ? 



Ah, 'tis true there is but sorrow 
On the morrow 

For the broken hearts that wait, 

Bearing secretly their fate. 

Yet the opening of the gate 
To the blessed heaven's morrow, 

When the aching, longing heart 



112 A BROKEN HEART. 

Shall be free from pain and sorrow^ 
Comes before my tired eyes 
With a wondrous sweet surprise. 

III. 

But this joy is not for me, 
Not for me. 
Alas ! for my poor broken heart, 
With its poisoned arrow's dart. 
Without hope, alone, apart. 



MY RELEASE. 

I hear in the ocean's restless moan 
My soul's lament. 
Will it ever cease ? 

I feel in the rumbling earthquake's groan 
Deep anguish spent. 
Shall I now know peace ? 

I see in the smallest heaven's loan 
Enough for content — 
But is that release ? 

O no! 
My release is but found in the pure under- 
tone, 
Coming nearer and dearer to me, 

"3 



114 MY RELEASE, 

Of a great human love beyond Nature at 
best, 
Eternal, inspiring, and free. 
Oh, that's my release. 
Happy me, happy me ! 



THE GOD OF MUSIC. 

TO E. T. G. 

Out from the depths of silence 
The god of music came, 

To echo heavenly cadence 

On earth's fair shores of fame. 

Full-orbed, with heavenly glory, 
He met the lords of earth. 

But 'twas the old, old story. 
They blind were to his worth. 

So back to depths of silence 
He flew on wings of light, 

" To bide their time of nonsense," 
He sang when out of sight. 

115 



ii6 THE GOD OF MUSIC. 

And as rolled on the ages, 

He ever and anon 
Sent down to earth his pages 

The lords to breathe upon. 

At length he felt vibrations, 
From Germany's fair clime, 

Of sweetest modulations 

E'er heard in realms of time. 

So forth he flew in rapture 
To that dear father-land, 

To seize — ere earth could capture 
A spirit pure and grand. 

To which he could surrender 
Himself with perfect ease, 

And weave the music tender, 
Of heaven's own harmonies. 



THE GOD OF MUSIC. 117 

He found the child Beethoven ; 

On him his blessing fell. 
And in his soul was woven 

The sounds we know so well. 



TO WILHELM GERICKE. 

{On the completion of his conchictorship of the Boston Sym- 
phony Orchestra.') 

i884-/88g. 

Great poets can without the aid 

Of kindred mind 
Reveal to us the secrets laid 

On them to find ; 
l>ut music-kings need ministries 
To sound their hidden harmonies. 

]*or showing us the inmost heart 

Of these great kings, 
And making clear with wondrous art 

Their wanderings, 
We thank thee, while we tender here 
A "bon voyage" to home's loved sphere. 



FOR E. T. F. 



AFTER THE BIRTH OF HER SON, R. A. F. 
Afay 28, 1887. 

Vd rather hear my baby's coo, 

That little gurgling coo, 
Than rarest song or symphony 
Born out of music's mystery 
Which once did woo. 

I'd rather see my baby's face, 
That lovely dimpled face, 
Than all the choicest works of art, 
Inspired by loving hand or heart. 
Contained in space. 
119 



!0 FOR E. T. F. 

I'd rather feel my baby's eyes, 

Such deep blue heavenly eyes, 
Than all the world's delighted gaze, 
Proclaiming with continued praise 
My power to rise. 

O yes, 'tis true, my baby dear, 

My precious baby dear. 

Is more than music, art, or fame, 

Or anything that bears the name 

Of pleasure here. 

For in this joy 1 find a rest, 

A soul-inspiring rest, 
Beyond the wealth of fame or art, 
To satisfy my woman-heart, 
Or make it blest. 

And as I live in this my gift, 

My heaven-sent, blessed gift, 



FOK E. T. F. 



121 



Thoughts such as Mary pondered o'er 
Deep in her heart in days of yore 
Come to uplift, 

And make the claims of motherhood, 

Dear sacred motherhood, 
Become creation's mountain height, 
Whereon e'er shines the beacon-light 
Of womanhood. 

Chelsea, Mass. 



II 



AFTER THE DEATH OF R. A. F. 
February J, 1888. 

Would I could see my baby's face, 
That lovely dimpled face, — 



'■2 /■<)/,• /■■. r. /•'. 

() (i()(l, liow can I Ix'ar {\\v pain 
Of lU'vcT st'cini; i( a^ain. 
My l)al)y's face ; 

Of never seeing in lliosc eyes, 

Those deep l)lue lieavenly eyes, 
Tlie wondrous glimpses of soul-li^^ht 
Which iilled my heart with stran<;e delight 
And sweet surprise ; 

Of never hearini.; l)al)y's coo, 
'I'hat little L;ur^ling coo- 

(lod, how can I l)ear the pain 
Of never liearing it again, 

My l)al)y's coo. 

Ahis! "Thy will, not mine, he done." 
Not mine, but 'I'hine, he done. 

1 can but breathe again this i:)rayer, 
As in the; days of i)ast (les|)air. 

When |)eace was won. 



I'O ('. H. I'. 

( Upo7t rcceivitti^ n fiiiii^ <>/ j^rei;>r from the grniw of Helen 
r I utit Jackson, Octobfr, /8S8.) 

With reverent touch and j^rateful heart, 
Dear thoughtful friend, 

I hold this precious bit of green 
You kindly send 

From Cheyenne's holy, lonely grave, 
Where pilgrims tend. 

It touciies springs of tenderest life 

I ns[)ircd by her, 
Who, child of poetry and ease, 

Did not demur 
From sacrificing all to l)e 

Wrong's arbiter. 
.23 



2 4 TO c. //. /: 

That rare mosaic it suggests 

Made by the hand 
Of those who seek this favored spot 

In chosen land, 
Where, oft in life, she penned her soul 

At Truth's command. 

'Tis true, she wished no monument 

To mark the place ; 
But must she not be satisfied 

To see the space 
Thus blessed and open to the heart 

Of every race ? 

O brain of power and heart of fire, 

America's pride, 
No wonder that the mountain height. 

Above sin's tide. 
Was chosen as the resting place 

With death to hide ; 



TO C. H. F. 125 

For such could give the needed rest 

On earth denied, 
Could satisfy the poet's thought, 

Unsatisfied, 
And symbolize the soul's true rest 

When glorified. 



AN ANNIVERSARY POEM. 

And is time marked in heaven ? Dost know, 
() spirit friend, 
'Tis just a year ago to-day 
Thou went so suddenly away, 
And left me in my loneliness the weary 
days to spend ? — 
Ah, weary days, 
Denied thy praise 
And all thy many helpful ways ! 

And is earth known in heaven ? Dost see, 
O clear-eyed soul, 
The present changing life of man 
Still working out the wondrous plan 
126 



AN ANNIVERSARY POEM. 127 

Of making even broken lives add to the 
complete whole? — 
Ah, broken lives 
That death deprives 
Of help like thine that heavenward strives! 

And are we known in heaven ? Do I, thy 
once fond care, 
Still have that patient yearning love 
Which longed to lift my soul above 
The sweet though transitory joys of even 
earth's best fare ? — 

Ah, earth's best fare 
Cannot compare 
With thy ideal of me laid bare ! 



A COMFORT. 

TO S. R. H. 

I have sowed in tears, — 

Shall I reap in joy ? 
Shall my human heart be satisfied, 
And sorrow and pain be justified ? 
Shall full fruition free my soul 
From limitation's sad control. 
And all my faculties of mind 
Their perfect rest and freedom find ? 

" They that sow in tears 

Shall reap in joy," 
Sang a poet-heart in the long ago, 
'Midst depths of sorrow, pain, and woe 
And what to him was truth and life 
Has shone through all the ages' strife, 
To be at last our beacon-light 
Of comfort in the darkest night. 

128 



AN ANNIVERSARY. 

The autumn tints of these loved hills 

Outlined against the sky, 
Are dearer far to me this year 

Than in the years gone by ; 

For they are colors Nature wears 

To celebrate the time 
When her pet child changed life on earth 

For that of heavenly clime. 

She thus rejoices, while our hearts 
Wear not their flowers of joy. 

Alas ! could she but give us back 
Our gifted artist boy ! 
129 



130 AN ANNIVERSARY. 

But then she sees that it was best 
That he, Uke her, should know 

Death, and the Resurrection too, 
The fullest life to show. 



A THANK-OFFERING. 

TO MISS ELIZABETH P. PEABODY. 

Thou priestess of pure childhood's heart, 

Wherein God's spirit lies, 
Thou willing priestess of the art 

Of true self-sacrifice, 

Ere thy rare spirit takes its flight 
To realms beyond our praise, 

Where childhood's pure eternal light 
Shines through the blessed days. 

We thank thee for thy legacy 

Of thought wrought out in deed, 

131 



32 A THANK-OFFERING. 

By which love's sweet supremacy 
Becomes man's potent need. 



Our nation must thy secret share, 

Ere it can fully rise 
To heights of truth and insight where 

True wisdom's glory lies. 



AT LIFE'S SETTING. 

Put your arms around me. 

There — like that. 
I want a little petting 
At life's setting. 
For "tis harder to be brave 
When feeble age comes creeping, 
And finds me weeping 
(Dear ones gone), 
Or brings before my tired eyes 
Sweet visions of my youth's fair prize 
(There is a pain in sacrifice), 
Denied me then and ever. 
Left me alone ? No, never. 
For in God's love I nestled, 
While with deep thought I wrestled, 

133 



34 AT LIFE'S SEJ'T/NG. 

Till all my busy life at length 
Was spent in giving others strength, 
In making others' homes more bright, 
In makin<r others' burdens liHit. 



Jkit now, alone and weary, 
I am hungry 
For a human love's sweet petting 
At life's setting. 
Keep your arms around me, 

Kiss my fevered brow, 
Whisper that you love me — 
I can bear it now. 

Oh, how this does rest me 
Now my work is done ! 

I've all my life loved others, 
Now i want love, dear one. 



AT LIFE'S SE'jriNG. 135 

Just a little petting- 

At life's setting ; 
For I'm old, alone, and tired, 
And my long life's work is done. 



GRANDMA WAITING. 

A TRUE EXPERIENCE. 

" Still waiting, dear good grandma, for the 
blessed angel Death ? " 

"Yes waiting, only waiting to be borne 

across the sea. 
To the home my soul's been building all 

these years of mystery. 
Through ninety years and over now of deep 

and wondrous change, 
Wherein I've known the heights and depths 

of human feeling's range, 
And tried to solve the problems old of 

human life so strange. 

136 



GNA A' DAI A WA 1 7 ING. 1 3 7 

You want to know my history, because I 

am so good ? 
Ah, child, no human life can here be fully 

understood. 
You call me good, and what is more, a 

' true and blessed saint.' 
(There is illusion sweet indeed in what you 

child-souls paint 
Before you know too much of life and feel 

its evil taint. ) 
You even picture beauties of my home 

across the sea 
Which I never dared to hope for e'en on 

heights of ecstasy. 
You see me sitting helpless here, blind 

now for many years. 
Apparently so full of peace, so free from 

doubts and fears, — 
Though never free from Memory's thought 

which often brings the tears, — 



1 3 8 GRA NOMA \VA J 7 ING. 

And you wonder where's the passion and 

the energy of youth, 
The power that even dared to sway to evil 

ways forsooth. 
Ah, you but see the blessed fruit of what 

God planted sure. 
When in my years of sorrow He was whis- 
pering, ' Endure.' 
You cannot see the dreadful scars which 

naught on earth can cure. 
You cannot see the passion wild, when, 

'neath the coffin lid, 
Among the flowers, my children three, my 

precious all, were hid. 

Nor can you see my conflict sore, when I 

went almost mad 
Before the dying form of him who had 

loved me from a lad, 



GRANDMA WAfTlNG. 139 

A loving husband, kind and true, as ever 
woman had. 

But still, before my dear one died, more 
children came to me : 

Two lovely boys, who seemed at last a 
recompense to be. 

For sometimes it does seem as if God sends 
a special gift, 

To be a special help and strength, the sel- 
fish clouds to lift, 

Or — what, perhaps, we need as much — the 
wheat from chaff to sift. 

Through all my lonely, widowed life I lived 
in their sweet ways, 

And found no sacrifice too great in work 
for future days. 

At length they were my crowning joy. I'd 
come again to know 

The blessings of a married life — the hap- 
piest here below — 



1 40 GRA NDMA ]VAI TING. 

When, lo ! Death seized the oldest one, my 

boy that I loved so. 
This opened fresh the old deep wounds ; 

but still I had much left, 
For then I was not, as before, of every 

child bereft. 
So on I went in daily life, determined to 

be true 
To blessings that were left to me. That 

does one's life renew, — 
Remember this, my dear one, when your 

grandma's gone from you. 

The years went on. I felt I'd had my 

share of sorrow's pain. 
So I banished every lingering thought that 

Death could come again. 
But when we are the surest, child, 'tis then 

he seems to be 



GRANDMA WAITING. 141 

More vigilant than ever to proclaim his^ 

mystery, 
As if he envied us an hour of joy's sweet 

company. 
My husband first was stricken down ; then 

came the added blow : 
Two grown up sons, all settled with as fine 

a business show 
As ever comes to mortals, were cut down 

in prime of life, 
Having just begun to free me from the cir- 
cumstances rife. 
Which boded of the bitterness of poverty's 

dread strife. 
My soul was then so mystified, so dazed 

before God's will, 
That I could only find my voice in His 

calm words, * Be still.' 
Oh, could I not been spared this stroke^ 

known one less bitter pain, 



42 GRANDMA WAiriNG. 



And been as good fo^i- duties here, as fit for 

heaven's rei.o-n ? 
Was this the way,^ the only way, eternal life 

to gain ? 



It cannot be much longer. I shall soon 

have crossed the sea. 
To the home my soul's been building all 

these years of mystery. 
I've had my share of sorrow, but I've done 

the best I could. 
God knows I've tried through all to grow 

more patient, wise, and good ; 
To get at least this out of life, as every 

mortal should. 
But, though I've had his comfort, and still 

hear his sweet ' Endure,' 
I feel the bitter heartache which no time 

or sense can cure. 



GRANDMA WAITING. 143 

My friends have all been laid away, my 

work long since was o'er, 
And now I'm only waiting for Death's 

landing on the shore. 
I hope 'twill be at sunset when he knocks 

at my soul's door ; 
For, somehow, it much easier seems to go 

the unknown way 
Attended by the beauty of the sun's last 

glorious ray. 
But as I calmly wait and think, it does 

seem rather queer 
That what you ' blessed angel ' call has 

seemed my chief curse here. 
Alas ! how much we suffer before God's 

ways appear." 



DOES IT PAY? 

Does it pay — all this burden and worry, 
All the learning acquired with pain, 

All the planning and nervous wild action. 
The restlessness following gain, 
Does it pay ? 

To be free from this burden and worry, 

To have knowledge without fear and pain, 
To be peaceful, far-seeing, sweet tempered, 

And calm in the presence of gain. 
We must know the pure secret of Nature, 

Like her be obedient to law. 
And work in the light of the promise 
Of blessed results Christ foresaw. 
Then each day, 
And alway, 
Life will pay. 



[44 



AUXILIUM AB ALTO. 

The poet young e'er finds a tongue 

To tell the joys of love. 
The poet bold e'en dares behold 

The mystery above. 

The poet brave e'er loves to rave 
Of wars and victories gained. 

The poet sweet e'en dares repeat 
The angels' songs unfeigned. 

And to each one we say, " Well done, 

Go on and do thy best." 
Though still we feel each doth but seal 

A part of life's bequest. 
145 



146 A UX ILIUM AB ALl^O. 

But yet we cry, " O goddess high, 
Must thou thy wealth so share ? 

America feign would have the reign 
Of one thy gift to bear. 

She needs such one to help her shun 
The dangerous shoals of thought, 

Which in this age of clown and sage 
Her progress gained hath wrought. 

She needs such one to help her shun 
The deeper shoals of wrong, 

Which in these days of doubt's fond lays 
Tempt e'en her favored strong. 

Oh, send such one to say, ' Well done,' 
And tell in truth God's plan. 

While he declares as well as shares 
The fullest life of man." 



LIMITATIONS; 

" Would that my acts could equal the noble 

acts I've told. 
Would that I could but master myself as 

visions bold ! " 

So cried a famous artist, in agony of soul, 
As waves of great temptation before him 
high did roll. 

" Oh, would that I could body the thoughts 

that govern me. 
Oh, would that I could picture the visions 

I foresee ! " 

So cried a saintly woman, in ecstasy of 

pain. 
As waves of sad depression rolled on her 

soul to gain. 

147 



THE MUSE OF HISTORY. 

Clio, with her flickering Hght 

And book of valued lore, 
Comes down the ages, dark and bright, 

Our interest to implore. 

She walks with glad majestic mien. 
Proud of her knowledge gained ; 

Though mourning oft at having seen 
Man's life so dulled and pained. 

Her face with lines of care is wrought, 
From searching mystery's cause, 

And dealing with the hidden thought 
Of nature's subtle laws. 
148 



THE MUSE OE HISTORY. 149 

Yet still she blushes with new life 

At sight of actions fine, 
And pales with anguish at the strife 

Of evil's dread design. 

She stops to sing her grandest lays 

When, in creation's heat, 
She sees evolved a higher phase 

Of life's fruition sweet. 

'Twas thus in days of Genesis, 
When man came forth supreme. 

'Twas thus in days of Nemesis, 
When Love did dare redeem. 

And thus 'twill be in future days, 

When out from spirit laws, 
Shall be brought forth for lasting praise 

The ever great First Cause. 



ISO THE MUSE OE HISTORY. 

Oh, gladly know this wondrous muse 
Who walks the aisles of Time, 

And not so thoughtlessly refuse 
Her book of lore sublime ; 

For in it is the precious force 

Of spirit-life divine. 
Which even through a winding course 

Leads in to Wisdom's shrine. 



AN IMPROMPTU. 

{Written /or G. H. T., on the death of W. S. T., March, 
i88q.) 

As brothers here we've shared the smiles, 
The tears of boyhood's hour, 

And felt the sweet companionship 
Of manhood's love and power. 

But now the tie is snapped. He's fled 

Beyond the mortal sight. 
The grave with all its mystery 

Asserts Death's power to blight. 

Alas ! Death seems the cruel thing 
In this bright world of ours. 

The bravest soul shrinks from its hold 
Though loving faith empowers. 
'51 



152 ^A' IMFKOMFTU. 

But, hark ! Is 't not his voice 1 hear, 

With comfort as of yore ? 
" Dear brother. Death is but more Life, 

The grave is heaven's door." 



TO MRS. PARTINGTON. 

July 12, t886. 

Another birthday here ? 
It hardly seems a year 
Since I these words did hear, — 
When three score years and one did crown 
thee, — 
" Not till I am an octagon, 
Or, worse still, a centurion. 
Shall I be old, with factories gone 
All idiomatic and forlorn." 

But thou art still a "membrane " dear 
Of what we call society's cheer ; 
"Ordained beforehand, in advance." 
('Twas "foreordained," that does enhance,) 

153 



154 TO MRS. PARTINGTON. 

To hurl not " epitaphs " which sting, 
But a new " Erie's " dawn to bring, 
Of " fluid " thoughts which counteract 
The " bigamies " of fate and fact. 

Alas ! thy crutch of iflany years 
Still hints "romantic " pains and fears ; 
A "Widow Cruise's oil jug" say, 
To keep "plumbago '' still at bay ! 

Its helpful mission has a share 
In " Lines of Pleasant Places " rare. 
And, by the way, not crutch alone 
Finds in that book its value shown. 

There in the depths of friendship's mines 
Are seen thy tenderest, purest lines ; 
Impromptus born at love's command 
To deck occasion's wise demand. 



TO MRS. PARTINGTON. 155 

One finds no " Sarah's desert " there, 
No " reprehensible " despair ; 
But teeming thoughts on Mounds and Press 
Poured out in pure unselfishness. 

This brings to mind thy Knitting- lVo?'k, 
Wherein that " plaguey Ike " does lurk, 
And other books with humor rife, 
Done in the priming of thy life. 

" Contusion of ideas." O no ; 
What " Angular Saxon " would say so 1 
" Congestive thoughts then so inane 
They'd decompose the soundest brain." 

Yes, there it is, thy humor still. 
Not seventy years and two can kill. 
'Tis free from all " harmonious " lore, 
A "wholesome" not a "ringtail" store. 



LINES 

SENT TO THE DINNER GIVEN IN HONOR OF WALT 
whitman's SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY, AT CAM- 
DEN, N.J., MAY 31, 1889, AT 5 o'clock P.M. 

" Splendor of ended day floating and filling 
me,"* 
Comes to my mind as I think of the hour 
When our poet and friend will be lovingly 
drinking 
The mystical cup of the seventy years' 
power. 

Were I the man-of-war bird he has pictured 
Nothing could keep me from flying that 
way. 

*"Song at Sunset." — JV. IV. 
156 



LINES. 1 5 7 

But, though absent in body, there's nothing 
can hinder 
My tasting the joys of that festive birth- 
day ; 

For on the swift wings of the ending day's 
splendor 
My soul will glide in to drink deep the 
cup's wealth. 
Who knows but the poet's keen sense of 

pure friendship 
Will feel, 'midst the joy, what I drink to 
his health ? — 

Splendor of ended day 

Be but the door 
Opening the endless way 
Life evermore. 



SONNETS. 



THE KNOWN GOD. 

(Suggested by Arlo Bates' sonnet, "The Unknown God, ^'' pub- 
lished in tlie Boston Courier of August 21, 1887.) 

If Paul in Athens' street left nothing more 
Than what he found when deep in sacred 

thought, 
He stood and marvelled o'er what had 
been wrought, — 
The To the Unknown God of heathen 

lore, — 
Then were he only one on thought's wide 
shore 
To lose his name in others. But, heaven- 
taught, 

161 



1 62 T/IE KNOWN GOD. 

Undaunted, and in words experienced- 
fraught, 
Declared he God as known forevermore. 

Paul's words, made deep and strong by 

martyred life. 

Are more than vision deified. They are 

Love's balm to permeate true mental strife, 

And bring to sin-sick weary souls a star 

Of hope born of temptation's struggles rife. 

2o the K7iown God. Through Paul we 

dare thus far. 

August, 1887. 



TO PHILLIPS BROOKS. 

O type of manhood, strong, serene, and 
chaste, 
Attuned to law of man as well as God, 
We hail thee as a guide, who, having 
trod 
With Christ the spirit-fields, in eager haste 
Makes glad return to give us blessed taste 
Of fruit there found. Through thee our 

feet are shod 
With gospel-peace, while thy imperial 
rod 
Becomes our need in times of drought or 
waste. 

How can we thank thee for thy helpful 
cheer, 

163 



1 64 TO PHILLIPS BROOKS. 

O master-spirit of the priests of earth ? 
By daily doing penance without fear, 

Or resting satisfied in deeds of worth ? 
O no ! 'Tis when we breathe love's at- 
mosphere, 
And live like thee the life of heavenly 
birth. 

Boston, /8go. 



AT THE "PORTER MANSE.' 



[That part of the Porter Manse containing the room referred 
to was built early in the last half of the seventeenth 
century. It was the house which Wenham (the first dis- 
tinct township set off — in 1639 — from Salem) gave to 
the second pastor of its church, Rev. Antipas Newman, 
who married, while living there, Governor Winthrop's 
daughter. It was bought by John Porter in 1703, and 
has remained in his family name without alienation to 
this day.] 



Before a smouldering fire at twilight hour 
I muse alone. The ancient room, low- 
beamed, 
Holds for my ear thoughts voiced by 
forms that teemed 
Two hundred years ago with life and power. 
I breathe the essence of sweet joys that 
flower 

165 



i66 AT THE '' PORTER MANSEr 

In light of home ; while life that only 

seemed 
On history's page becomes the real, re- 
deemed 
From all the chaff that time fails not to 
shower. 

Ah, such old places, holding through the 
years 
Continuous life of man's activity, 
Reveal a wealth beyond that which appears 

In modern homes built e'er so lovingly. 
Imbued so long with human hopes and 
fears, 
Have they not claim to personality ? 



OUR LADY OF THE MANSE. 

Of all those born into the name to share 

The charming freedom of the Porter 
Manse, 

None were more worthy of inheritance 
Than she who now presides as lady there. 
Her gracious calm makes hospitality wear 

A beauteous crown of peace. Kind tol- 
erance 

And wide-embracing sympathy enhance 
Her power to please and lighten daily care. 

'Tis only such rare souls who pierce the 
truth 
Of home-life secrets, and through tact 
and grace, 

167 



1 68 OUR LADY OF THE MANSE. 

Make growing years reflect the joys of 
youth. 
They lose not hope, though sorrow leave 
a trace 
In all their joy. Such cannot fail, forsooth, 
Of making home a loved abiding place. 



TO B. P. SHILLAKER. 

July 12, 1888. 

When lingering Day at last recedes from 
sight, 
And Night comes slowly forth to fill her 

place, 
Preceded by a twilight-hour's loved face 
Reflecting glorious rays of sunset light, 
'Tis then my thoughts go wandering with 
delight 
Through oft-frequented avenues of space 
To those dear souls — the dearest of the 
race — 
Who've dwelt with me on friendship's purest 
height. 

169 



170 TO B. P. SHILLABKR. 

From this old mountain-top I come to you, 
My large souled trusted friend of many 
a year, 
With birthday greetings of the roseate hue 
Left by a perfect Day just lingering here. 
Oh, may life's twilight hold a peace as 
true, 
And be as filled with hope of dawn's 
sweet cheer ! 
« 

Mount Waclnisett, Mass. 



TO OUR MARY. 

Sweet sister, thoughtful ever of our need, 
Forgetting self, if only we be served, 
How oft thy loving sympathy has nerved 
Our fainting hearts to kinder, nobler deed, 
Or brought to being thoughts that inter- 
cede 
For others' progress. We, all unde- 
served. 
Cannot forget that life to ends thus 
curved 
Made time for us to plant our own pet 
seed. 

The world owes much to many a sister 
dear, 

171 



172 TO OUR MARY. 

Who, banishing with tears in midnight 
hour 
A fond desire for larger, happier sphere, 

Strives faithfully in lowly life to shower 
Rich daily blessings. Such may know e'en 
here 
A Christ-like joy unknown to worldly 
power. 

Chelsea, Mass., 1887. 



A BIRTHDAY REMEMBRANCE. 

TO F. D. L. 

September 26. 

Time brings to thee from out his storehouse 
old 
Another year, which graciously awaits 
Thy fair soul's bidding, as it estimates 
The wealth the parting year has left un- 
told. 
Clothed in chameleon garments, which 
unfold 
The fresh new days thine eye ne'er 

underrates. 
It brings continued hope of life that 
dates 
Man's finest being. Thou its secrets hold I 

173 



174 ^ B/RTIIDAY REMEMBRANCE. 

Are not such birthdays restful stepping 
stones, 
To aid the growing soul pick out the way 
To life eternal ? Not earth's bitterest moans 
Or wildest joys can man's true progress 
stay, 
If, in these pauses, he but hear the tones 
Of immortality's soothing, deathless lay. 

1887. 



JOSEF HOFMANN. 

{After hearing him play at Boston Music Hall in r888.) 

O marvellous child, a temple where in ease 
Expectant Genius dwells, while lingering 

here 
On earth to fit us for the heavenly sphere, 
Dost feel awe-struck to know thou hast the 

keys 

To new and wondrous unheard harmonies ? 

O favored boy, marked out to be the peer 

Of those who in all ages God's voice hear, 

Hushed are our souls before what thy soul 

sees ! 

Guard tenderly, O earth, O sky, O fates. 
This precious earthly temple of Art's 
shrine ! 

'75 



176 JOSEF HOFMANN. 

May chilling poverty, or sin that dates 
Soul loss, ne'er hinder Genius' wise de- 
sign 

To have full sway — as she anticipates — 
In working out, in time, her laws divine. 



I. 

AFTER THE DENIAL. 
John 21 : IS- 1 8. 
When fast was broken on Tiberias' shore, 
The risen Lord, still anxious that his own 
Should know love's secret as to him 'twas 
known. 
Thrice asked of Peter, " Lovest thou me 

more 
Than these ? " The third time Peter's heart 
was sore. 
Must even love divine have doubt's sad 

tone ? 
"Thou knowest, Lord, I love thee," was 
his moan. 
Then, "Feed my sheep," Christ answered 
as before. 

177 



17^ AFTER THE DENIAL. 

Still in these days the risen Lord bends 

o'er 
The shores of time, and longs for human 

love ; 
The love that hears his voice, awake, asleep, 
And makes response as Peter did of yore. 
" lyovest thou me ? " O Christ, from heights 

above. 
Thou knowest that we love thee. " Feed 

my sheep." 



II. 

GETHSEMANE. 
Matthew 26 : 36-46. 
'■' Could ye not watch with me one hour ? " 
O heart 
Of Christ, still longing in the bitterest 

hour 
For human sympathy and love to shower 
A needed strength beyond words to im- 
part ! 
Humanity is richer for this art 

Of seeing in poor finite man a power — 
Before which even ministering angels 
cower — 
To know all truth, e'en dread Gethsemane's 
smart. 

179 



1 8 o GE THSEMA NE. 

Alas ! the power to know will bring the 
pain. 
But through the pain of wisdom's true 
insight 
Is Christ's own perfect sympathy made 
plain. 
Possessed of this, we see in tenderest 
light 
His sorrowing heart in failing to obtain 
The longed-for love in hour of darkest 
night. 



ON LAKE MEMPHREMAGOG. 

By old Owl's Head on Memphremagog's 
side, 
In hammock-nook 'midst scenery wild 

and bold, 
The spirit of the waters, as of old. 
Broods o'er my soul, its secrets to confide, 
It whispers of the anguish, joy, and pride, 
The heart of man has on its bosom told ; 
And hails as conqueror Him who once 
did hold 
Its heart in peace when tempest-tossed and 
tried. 

Loved spirit of the waters, we too hail 
The power of Him who walked the holy 

sea 

i8r 



I02 ON LAKE MEMPHREMAGOG. 

Of Galilee. Capacity to fail 

Were harder to believe than victory. 
May He who conquered wildest Nature's 

heart 
His infinite power and rest to us impart ! 

August, i8gi. 



LUKE 23 : 24. 

From holy depths he to the Father prayed, 
" Forgive them, for they know not what 

they do." 
His heart, pierced then with anguish 
through and through, 
Cried out " 'Tis finished," as he death 

obeyed. 
In bitterest wrong this marvellous soul was 
weighed 
With tenderest love and longing towards 

those who. 
Through ignorance of what they might 
be too, 
Were now the slaves of evil passion's raid. 

183 



184 LUKE 23: 24. 

" They know not what they do." O blessed 
sight 
Into the heart of sin's great mystery. 
Forgiveness here is shown in sweetest Hght, 

Clothed in her garment of sincerity. 
Blest are those souls who reach this precious 
height ; 
They know the secret of Christ's victory. 



TO THE MEMBERS OF MY HOME 
CLUB* 

While dwelling in sweet wisdom's fruitful 
ways, 
In company with poets grand and good 
Who met our human nature's every mood, 
What life was ours, beyond our words to 

praise ! 
In seeking for the secret of the lays 

Which clothed in art pure; Nature's daily 
food, 
Or brought to light a Christian brotherhood, 
Did we not garner thoughts for future 
days ? 

*For an account of this Home Club, see the Boston Liter- 
ary World, of July 9, 1887, and June 9, 1888 ; also, Lend a 
Hand, for September, 1889. 

185 



1 86 -JX) THE MEMBERS, ETC. 

'Tis one of wisdom's joys, while lingering 
here 
To plant her seeds of righteousness and 
peace, 
To give a sweet companionship and cheer 
To those who seek from her their soul's 
increase. 
This, friends, we've felt in our Club atmo- 
sphere. 
May its sweet memory linger till life 
cease ! 

Chelsea, Mass., j888. 



FOR MY LITTLE NEPHEWS 
AND NIECES. 



A MAMMA'S LULLABY. 

Dream of loveliest beauty in thine hour of 
sleep, 
Harold, baby boy. 
Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby. 
Catch the sweetest glimpses of the heavenly 

bliss. 
While the holy angels bless thee with a 
kiss. 
Lullaby, lullaby. 
So shall mamma feel a breath 

Of celestial power, 
To beautify the ministry, 
Of baby's waking hour. 
Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, 
Harold, baby boy. 
Lullaby, lullaby. 



WARREN'S SONG. 

How I love you, baby dear, 
Sister Rosamond ! 
I must kiss you, 
I must hug you, 
I must be your little beau. 
To protect you 
Or to rescue 
From the faults of friend or foe. 
I must grow more wise and graceful 

Every way. 
That I may be true and helpful 

For the day 
When, as lovely fair young woman, 
You will need my stay. 
Darling Rosebud, 
190 



WARREN'S SONG. 191 

How I love you, 
How I love you, sister dear ! 
Oh, I will be good and pure. 
Striving always to endure 
\^'hat will make me honest, kind, 
Generous, manly, strong in mind, 
Worthy of my Rosebud. 

Darling Rosebud, 

Sweetest Rosebud, 
How I love you, sister dear ! 



BABY MILDRED. 

Darling baby Mildred, playing on the 
floor — 

I see ! 
Creeping here and creeping there, 
Into mischief everywhere, 
Mamma's little pet and care — 
I see ! 

Fearless baby Mildred, on her rocking 
horse — 

1 see ! 

Never slipping from her place, 

Joyous laughter keeping pace 

With a motion full of grace — 

I see ! 

192 



BABY MILDRED. I93 

Thoughtful baby Mildred, papa's pet and 
pride — 

I know ! 
Lighting up the passing days 
With such happy, winsome ways, 
Joy of household life that pays — * 
I know ! 

I'ired baby Mildred, lovely eyes all closed — 
Sleep on ! 
Waking, heaven will be more near 
For the angels' presence here, 
Whispering secrets in her ear — 
Sleep on ! Sleep on ! 



ROSAMOND AND MILDRED. 

Rosamond and Mildred, playing on the 
floor — 

I see ! 
Laughing blue eyes, dimpled face. 
Laughing brown eyes, ways of grace, 
Chubby hands that interlace — 
I see ! 

Rosamond and Mildred, trying hard to 
walk — 

I see ! 
Clinging now to mamma's dress, 
Trembling in new happiness. 
Then at last a sweet success - — 
I see ! 
194 



ROSAMOND AND MILDRED. 1 95 

Rosamond and Mildred, born the same 
glad year — 

I know ! 
Cousins ; each in her own way 
Growing wiser every day, 
Full of promise as of play^ — 
I know ! 

Rosamond and Mildred, parting to go 
home — 

Good-bye ! 
Each a little picture fair. 
Carrying blessing everywhere. 
Grateful are we for our share - — 
Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 



'CHILLA. 

Chinchilla ? Come, 'Chilla ! — 
Ah, here she comes bounding, 
So quickly responding, 
Oh, who could but love her ! 
Her fur like chinchilla — 
Her movements all grace — 
Such a wise little face — 
What kitty is like her ? 
Oh, who could but love her, 
Our dear pretty 'Chilla ! 



196 



CHILDISH FANCIES. 

(A FACT.) 

My little nephew, four years old, 
A sweet-faced, blue-eyed boy, 

Was one day playing by my side 
With this and that pet toy, 

When all at once he said to me, — 
As, laying down my book, 

I paused a while to watch with joy 
His bright, expressive look, — 

" If Mac and I should plant today 
Some paper in the ground, 

Say, would it grow to be a book 
Like yours, with leaves all bound ? 

^97 



98 CHJLDJSn FANCIES. 

These were the same two little boys 
Whose nurse searched far and wide 

For little sister's rubber shoes ; 
" Where can they be ? " she cried. 

" I know," replied Mac, eagerly, 
" We planted them last night. 

To see if they would bigger grow 
To fit our feet all right." 

Dear little boys ! These fancies hint 

Of future questions deep, 
When evolution's grand idea 

Shall o'er their vision sweep. 

God grant that when these come to them. 
As at Truth's shrine they bow, 

A childlike faith and earnestness 
May fill them then as now. 



WHAT LITTLE BERTRAM DID. 

(A FACT ) 

Our little Bertram, six years old, 
Sat on his grandpa's knee, 

Enjoying to the full the love 
That grandpa gave so free. 

When, looking up bewitchingly, 
He said, — the little teaze,— 

" Will grandpa give me just one cent 
To buy some candy, please ? " 

Who could resist such loveliness ? 

This grandpa could not, sure. 
So with a kiss he gave the cent — 

Ah, how such things allure ! 

'99 



2 00 WHAT LITTLE BERTRAM DID. 

No sooner was the cent in hand, 
Than off the fair boy ran 

To buy his candy, " 'lasses kind," 
Or little "candy-man." 

Now on his way, in scanning well 

A window full of toys. 
He spied a ring with big red stone, 

O'erlooked by other boys. 

All thought of candy was forgot. 

He'd buy that ring so fine 
For his new sister, Rosamond — 

Oh, how his eyes did shine ! 

How could he stop to calculate 
The size of such a thing ; 

His only care was for the price — 
Would one cent buy the ring t 



WHAT LITTLE BERTRAM DLD. 201 

Ah yes, it would. The ring was bought ; 

And never girl or boy 
Went tripping homeward through the 
streets 

With greater wealth or joy. 



"DEAR LITTLE MAC."* 

(a fact.) 

When nearly eight years old, dear little 

Mac 
Was called from out his happy home-life 

here 
To that blest sphere 
Beyond earth's dearest power to call him 

back. 

" His questions wise will now sure answer 

find," 
Said one who 'd loved to watch his eager 

face, 
In happy chase 

* MacLaurin Cooke Gould, died in Maplewood, Mass., No- 
vember 8, 1H87. 



"DEAR LITTLE MAC." 203 

Of many a thought which flitted through 
his mind. 

" Yes, he knows more than we," another 

said, 
" Instead of guiding him, he'll be our guide 

To where abide 
The things we need most to be comforted." 

While thus the older ones their comfort 

sought, 
Two of the children paused in midst of 

play. 
To have their say 
Concerning this great mystery Death had 

brought. 

" Dear little Mac," said Miriam, with a 
sigh. 



2 04 ''DEAR LITTLE MACr 

'* He's gone way up to heaven where angels 
are, 
Way up so far 
That we can't ever see him till we die." 

*' He's not up there," said Bertram. " He 

can't be. 
I saw them put him in the cold dark 

ground. 
And I went round 
And threw some flowers in for him to see." 

" He isn't there," replied the four-year old, 
*' He's up in heaven. My mamma told 
me so. 
He is^ I know. 
He isn't in the ground all dark and cold." 

A moment Bertram sat absorbed in thought, 
While Miriam felt the joy of victory. 



'^DEAK LITTLE A/AC." 205 

Then suddenly 
The lovely six-year-old this idea caught : 

"1 tell you what, Mac's body's in the 

ground ; 
His head, his feet, and every other part, 

But just his heart — 
And that's gone up to heaven, and angels 

found." 

The child thus solved the thought that 

troubled so. 
And as I overheard this earnest talk, — 

Which might some shock, — 
I wondered if we could more wisdom show. 

As each seemed satisfied, their play went 

on. 
But Bertram's thought sank deep in sister's 

mind. 



2o6 ^^DEAK LITTLE MAC" 

And left behind 
The wonder how dear Mac to heaven had 
gone. 

At last, when ready for their sweet " Good 

Night," 
She softly said, " It can't be very dark, 

Not very dark 
For Mac, I know, 'cause God will make it 

light." 

Oh, lovely faith of childhood's trusting 

days, 
Sent fresh from heaven to be our loving 

guide, 
When sadly tried 
By doubt or sorrow's strange, mysterious 

ways. 



WILLARD AND FLORENCE ON 
MOUNT WACHUSETT. 

July, 1888. 

Happy little girl and boy, 

Dancing hand in hand 
Over hill and valley land, 

Filled with summer joy ; 

Climbing up the steep path side 

To Wachusett's top, 
With that graceful skip and hop 

Born where fairies hide ; 

Seeing Holyoke from the height, 

Old Monadnock clear. 
While Washacum twin-lakes near 

Sparkle in sun-light ; 
207 



2o8 WILLAKD AND FLORENCE. 

Tripping down the mountain-road 

Back to cottage home, 
Only pausing there to roam 

Where laurel finds abode ; 

Jumping on the new-mown hay, 

Sitting under trees, 
Feeling every mountain breeze, 

Hearing birds' sweet lay ; 

Lying on the mossy stone 

By the brook's cascade. 
Listening 'neath the sylvan shade 

To its rippling tone ; 

Down at pretty Echo Lake, 

Plucking maiden-hair, 
Gathering glistening " sundew " there 

For " dear mamma's sake " ; 



WILLARD AND FLORENCE. 209 

Picking in the pastures near 

Berries red and blue ; 
Spying where the mayflowers grew 

Earlier in the year ; 

Watching for the sun to rise. 

Following sunset-cloud, 
Singing low and singing loud 

While the swift day flies ; 

Waiting for the "Tally-Ho," 

With its looked-for mails, 
Hearing strangers tell their tales 

As they come and go ; 

Happy little girl and boy. 

Dancing hand in hand 
Over hill and valley land, 

Filled with summer joy. 



A LITTLE BRAZILIAN. 

(a fact.) 

'Twas in Brazil last Christmas day, 

While at a family feast, 
A little girl of five years old 

The merriment increased, 

By crying out, — as glasses held 
The ice she ne'er had seen, — 

" Oh see ! what pretty little stones. 
What for ? Where have they been ? " 

" Here, give her one," the host exclaimed, 
Pleased with her childish glee. 

" 'Twill show her as no words could show 
What ice is, and must be." 

210 



A LITTLE BRAZILIAN. 211 

She grasped the " white stone " in her hand, 

All watching eagerly, 
When suddenly she let it fall, 

And cried, " It's burning me." 

But, anxious still to see it more, 

She asked a servant near 
To hand it in a napkin wrapped — 

Then there would be no fear. 

Again the ice was in her hand, 

Her plaything for the day, 
When all at once she cried aloud, 

"The stone is running away." 

A glass of water now was used. 

Sure that would keep it hers. 
But no ! with all her loving watch 

The same result occurs. 



212 A LITTLE BRAZILIAN. 

The plaything gone, at evening hour 

She sat on uncle's knee. 
" Who makes those white stones, you or 
God ? " 

She asked, inquiringly. 

" In Miss Brown's land [a Boston friend] 
God makes them," answered he. 

" But in Brazil a factory-man 
Makes them for you and me." 

A moment's pause. Then said the child, — 
Heaven's blessing on her fall, — 

" Why doesn't God get from Brazil 
A man to make them all ? " 



THE LITTLE DOUBTER. 

*' Mamma, where is the sun to-day, 
While all this rain comes down ? " 

Ah, little girl 

Of flaxen curl, 
Who has not asked before 
This question o'er and o'er ? 

" Behind the clouds so thick and black 

The sun is shining still," 
The mother quickly answered back. 

Her child with faith to fill. 

The child looked up in strange surprise, 

In doubt almost a pain, 
Then turned again her wistful eyes 

To watch the pouring rain. 
213 



2 14 THE LITTLE DOUBTER. 

" 1 don't believe 'tis shining still," 
She muttered to herself. 

Ah, little girl 

Of flaxen curl. 
Why doubt e'en mother's word, 
Because of feelings stirred ? 

" I won't believe it till I see 

The sun behind that cloud," 
She still went on, defiantly, 

To say in accents loud. 

Now, while she gazed as if to see 
The truth made known by sight. 

Behold the cloud did suddenly 
Become imbued with light. 

*' There, there, mamma, the sun, the sun ! 
The little doubter cried. 



THE LITTLE DOUBTER. 215 

And, full of joy at victory won, 
She danced with childish pride. 



The mother watched with tearful eyes 
Her child's transparent joy, 

But dared not quench the glad surprise, 
Or victory's power destroy. 



" Perhaps she'll need this proof," she sighed, 
" Of hidden things made plain. 

When in the depths of life she's tried, 
And all fond hopes are slain." 

While thus she mused, as mothers will. 

The little daughter fair 
Rushed to her arms, all smiling still, 

And said, while nestling there, 



2i6 THE LITTLE DOUBTER. 

" Behind the clouds the sun does shine. 
E'en while the rain comes down." 

Ah, little girl 

Of flaxen curl, 
This wisdom is indeed 
For future hours of need. 



OUR KITTY'S TRICK* 

I know that all the boys and girls 

Would be so glad to see 
Our kitty do the little trick 

She often does for me. 

When asked, " O kitty, where's the ball ? " 

She to my shoulder leaps, 
And looks directly to the shelf. 

Where from a box it peeps. 

She will not cease to look and beg, 

Until I find the place 
Where she can take between her teeth 

The ball with easy grace. 



* These verses, true in every detail, are only preserved in 
remembrance of a pet cat of our family for many years. 

217 



2i8 OUR KITTY'S TRICK. 

Then quickly to the floor she jumps; 

When, dropping first the ball, 
She runs behind the open door 

That leads into the hall. 

She waits, with only head in sight, 
The ball to see me throw ; 

Then after it she scampers well 
Some forty feet or so. 

She never fails to bring it back ; 

Then lifts with wondrous grace 
Her velvet paw to take the ball 

From out its hiding place. 

This done, she nestles by my side. 
And purrs while I caress, 

Unconscious of the trick she's done, 
Since three months old or less. 



OUR KITTY'S TRICK. 219 

She thus will lie in calm repose 

So long as I am still ; 
But if I move to touch the ball, 

Then all her nerves will thrill, 

Her eyes will shine, she'll quickly find 

Her place behind the door. 
And wait again to see the ball 
- Roll on the long hall floor. 

Ah, kitty dear, who told you how 
To join thought, act, and sight ? 

Must not we think that in you dwells 
The germ of mental light, 

The germ that makes you kin to us 

In kind though not degree. 
But which was quickened by His touch 

For our supremacy ? 



A MESSAGE. 

A mountain hides within itself 
This message grand and true, 

Which at my bidding came to-day 
For me to give to you : 

" Drink deep of Nature's sweetest life, 

While learning how to wait. 
Stand strong against the tempest's strife, 

Not questioning the fate. 
Then shalt thou live above the din 

Of petty things below, 
Absorbing depths of life within. 

The future to o'erflow." 

At the foot of Mount Holyoke. 



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